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friend poetry

wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
ich liebe, eine Weile weg zu stehlen
die Sonne ist oben
ich gehe hinunter die Gartenwege
es gibt eine Stadt, builded durch keine Hand
Überschreiten durch die huddled und häßlichen Wände
die langen resounding Marmorflure
behold ich, in meinem chiffon, in Gaze und in Filterstreifen
der alte Westen, die alte Zeit
obwohl ich wenig als alle kleinen Sachen bin

 



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